


You're My Doll

by puffythepig



Series: All my bsmits works :0 [2]
Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puffythepig/pseuds/puffythepig
Summary: Mr. Burns gets the smart idea to take Smithers drinking, but when the young assistant returns home, he ends up destroying his most treasured Malibu Stacey doll in a drunken rage. Will Mr. Burns come through and help him at all, or is he really nothing but a greedy, old man?





	

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEONE has to populate the internet with Burnsmithers fanfic. I'll have to sacrifice myself to do it. 
> 
> Kidding, kidding. I loved writing this and would love writing more b/s in the future!

“6 bottles of beer on the wall, 6 bottles of beer!” Smithers belted out, swinging his body aimlessly around the bar, the common bar occupants watching closely. “You take one down and pass it around, 6 bottles of beer on the wall!”  
“I’ve never seen that boy so drunk.” Moe murmured under his breath, looking at the old man sitting at the bar. “Is he gonna be okay?”  
“Yes. Smithers did drink quite a lot today. I usually don’t allow him to drink so much. But, it is his birthday.” With tired, grumpy eyes, Mr. Burns gazed over at his assistant. “I gave him one of his father’s suits that I’ve been saving…he seemed rather upset about it, but promised not to sob all over me if we went drinking.”  
The bartender listened intently. It wasn’t every day that a billionaire walked into your bar, after all. Especially not an evil billionaire, which Mr. Burns was a great example of. “You gave him one of his father’s suits? Wow, that’s a surprisingly nice thing for you to do, Mr. Burns.”  
Murmuring insults under his breath, the older man griped his knuckles and kneaded at them. “Yes, well it’s what his father would have wanted.”  
Moe fell quiet for a moment, turning to refill another bar attendant’s glass for the 3rd time that night. “Ya know, Mr. Burns,” the bartender growled in an exhausted voice, “you really don’t know how to take a compliment.”  
“Pish posh. I just don’t take them from low lives who serve peasants.” Grinning at himself, the rich man transfixed his eyes back to his assistant, who was still stumbling around and singing.  
“Ya know, I’m serving you, right? That would make you a peasant.” With a cocky smile, the bartender mopped the table up with his rag, watching in amusement as color drained from the rich man’s face and suddenly flooded it again.  
“Smithers!” The old man’s voice pierced the ears of the attendants, who all looked in the direction of the ruckus.  
Wobbling, the assistant flew to the aid of the older man. “Yes sir?” He slurred, a lovesick smile on his lips.  
“Attack this man.” After he pointed at the bartender, the old man smugly crossed his arms and watched in disbelief as his right-hand man missed every single attempt of a smack. It was pitiful to watch, and he almost laughed. He would have, if his embarrassment was shooting through the roof.  
“I think I,” A hiccup escaped the drunk man, “got ‘im sir.”  
“You didn’t, you buffoon.” Burns said in a defeated tone, focusing all of his attention on the assistant to avoid any more embarrassment. “Are you ready to leave, yet?”  
The bumbling assistant stared at the bar and at Mr.Burns full glass of alcohol. “But sir, you ‘aven’t drank anything.”  
Rubbing his hands together, Burns nodded. “Yes, yes, well watching you is much more entertaining.” Shaking the compliment away, Burns looked sternly at his right-hand man. “I am feeling quite exhausted at the moment. We should be finishing up.”  
“Alright sir,” Smithers grinned lovingly and picked his coat up off his barstool next to his boss. “I better be getting you home, then.”  
Mr. Burns’ eyes widened. “Ah, ah, ah, there’s no way in hell you’re driving me home.” Harshly, Burns clapped his hand on Smithers’ shoulder and guided him to sit down next to him. “I’ll call someone.”  
Smithers frowned a bit at being denied his job, but he quickly started to laugh and smile again, at nothing to the people watching him. It became evident what was on his mind, however, as he started to belt out the words to “Call Me” by Blondie, motioning to his boss throughout the song. Burns just rolled his eyes and stepped out of the bar to call a different chauffer to come get them. When he came back in, the bar was silent aside from Smithers, who sat on his barstool, full on sobbing.  
Quickly, Burns ran over and looked from his assistant the bartender. “What happened? Why is Smithers blubbering all of a sudden?”  
The bar attendant stared at the sobbing mess of light brown and yellow and white and shrugged. “He just sat down and started to sob all of a sudden. I think he’s just drunk off his ass.”  
Burns huffed and pat the top of Smithers’ back, causing the man to suddenly jolt up and look around. When his eyes landed on the billionaire, they quadrupled in size and he pulled him into a tight hug, sobbing all over the rich man’s shoulder.  
“Smithers, what the blazes is wrong with you?” Burns sneered, uncomfortably trying to push the stronger man away.  
“I couldn’t find you. I thought you left me here alone!” Smithers said in relief, pulling away, his breath still laced with the smell of beer.  
“You know I wouldn’t do that, you buffoon.” Burns said nonchalantly, wiping at his shoulder, which was now drenched in tears.  
“Sorry for crying, sir.” Smithers said in a small voice, on the brink of bursting back into sobs. Burns uncomfortably pat the other’s shoulder.  
“Don’t be. But don’t you dare start doing it again.” That was a warning, in Burns mind. The look of sorrow set proudly on the others’ face still though, and Burns was ready for a different expression to reign. “Just a minute. Sit here.”  
Smithers listened, and watched obediently as Burns walked over to the jukebox. After a few minutes, Smithers, even in his intoxicated state, was ready to go over and help his boss work the machine, but a loud, familiar song suddenly blazed through the bar.  
Burns glanced over at his assistant and started to head in his direction. A look of glee spread over Smithers’ face and the man started to bob his head to the beat of the song, letting Burns know what he did worked to change the sycophantic male’s mood. Once at the bar, he sat by the said assistant and smiled. “There, that’s better. I put your favorite song about male positivity on.”  
Smithers laughed and nodded. “Thank you very much, Sir!” And with that, the younger male started to dance around the bar, but at least he didn’t look like a complete fool this time. There were three other bar occupants dancing to the song, and Smithers fit right in. Burns watched the other dance and found himself entertained again, as he tapped his fingers together to the beat of It’s Raining Men. At one point, Smithers even danced back over to Burns and asked if he wanted to dance as well, but Burns gladly denied the request.  
Once the song ended, Smithers hurried back over to his boss and sat down next to him. He was still happy, but a look of sudden shyness crossed over his face. Burns noticed right away and gave his worker a cautious glance. “Why are you looking at me like that?”  
“Sir, can I…” Smithers hiccupped sadly, “can I stay at your house tonight?”  
Burns scoffed and shook his head. “You’re a blubbering mess, Waylon. And frankly,” The old man gave him a smug look of pity, “you smell like beer.”  
Smithers sighed and was ready to pout for the rest of the evening. Sadly, Smithers wobbled to his feet, but instead of joining in the few people dancing along, he leaned against the bar and put his hands on the bartop, pulling himself on top of it. Right away he scooted in front of the rich man and started playing with his hands. Aside from the pair, only the bartender appeared to really notice, and he knew not to mess with the crying drunks, as Smithers was. Instead, he just grumbled and scrubbed at the bartop, refusing to look at the duo.  
Smithers sighed loudly again, making his boss flinch a bit at the sound. Knowing that he had his full attention, Smithers reached forward and softly pulled on Burns’ tie, forcing the older man to lean forward.  
From across the bar, Burns was sure heard the only bald man in the bar shout something along the lines of “Get some, Smithers,” in response to the situation, but Mr. Burns chose to not respond.  
Whipping out the puppy-dog eyes, Smithers twirled his boss’ tie in his fingers gently. “Sir, please let me go home with you.”  
Once again, Burns denied the request and tried to recoil away, but Smithers kept his grip on the other’s tie tight. With another sigh, Smithers bowed his head and rested the top of it against Burns’ head. Gently, he let go of the tie and watched his boss dwindle away from him, scowling.  
Whining, Smithers sprawled himself completely out on the bartop, resting his head by Burns hands. Burns just shook his head and looked pitifully at the drunk man. Suddenly the door opened, and in strode their chauffeur.  
“Finally. He’s drunk as a bat and we need to get him home.” Mr. Burns murmured, standing up from his barstool and pacing over to the servant.  
Without needing to be told it was time to leave, Smithers rolled off the bar and desperately stumbled after his boss like a lovesick puppy. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Smithers apartment complex. While Mr. Burns insisted that the reason he helped Smithers in was to make sure he didn’t hurt any items, the chauffeur gave him a knowing look. Mr. Burns, after all, was making sure that Smithers himself wasn’t going to get hurt. Once the door closed and Mr. Burns headed to his own home, Smithers sat in front of the television and tried to focus on the screen, but he was having a hard time understanding what was going on, and he swiftly became frustrated. Agitated, he wobbled around the room and tried finding something to destroy to get his feelings out. First, it was a glass. He picked it up and threw it as hard as he could toward the wall, but the sound it made when it shattered hurt his ears and only made him more upset. Desperately, he gazed around the room for something else to break. Swiftly, he gripped a packaged item in his hands and started to tear it open, not realizing in his drunk state that it was one of his most prized Malibu Stacey dolls. He watched in delight as the plastic was unsheathed, and he grinned as he tore her head off, tossing it.  
Proud of his achievement, Smithers sat back down on his couch and once again tried to focus on the cartoons that played along the screen. Unable to focus, he lay down in defeat, and soon drifted off. 

 

When morning came, nothing seemed wrong at first. Smithers brushed his teeth, combed his hair, took a shower, ate breakfast, and was searching for his shoes when he noticed something small stuck in his curtain. Curiously, he paced over and reached for the item, dropping it when he realized what it was. “What have I done?” He murmured to himself, bending over and picking the head of Malibu Stacey back up, cradling it as if she could magically be fixed if he touched her head enough. Smithers spent so long looking at it that he didn’t notice the time, and he didn’t move to the door until his phone buzzed frantically.  
Flipping the device out, he realized the time that displayed on its screen. Cursing himself and pulling his shoes on, he raced out the door and to the Burns manor.  
When Smithers arrived, Burns was waiting, crossing his arms. “You’re late. I had to drink orange juice from the store for breakfast.” He sneered.  
“Sir, I’m so sorry. I just woke up late because of my hangover.” Partly, this was true. He did have a hangover this morning. But it was not the primary reason, which still illuminated and fought for dominance in his mind.  
“Well, that’s expected of someone who doesn’t drink often, I suppose.” Thoughtfully, Burns nodded at the idea. “But, this won’t happen again.”  
“No Sir, it won’t!” Smithers exclaimed, preparing himself mentally for a day of work, though he couldn’t help but think of his precious and destroyed doll.  
“Good. Anyway, it’s time to head to work. I have some papers you need to sift through and organize for me when we get there.” Burns ordered, leading the assistant to his limousine.

 

It was about midday when Burns called him in. Smithers was ready to hear his new orders, but instead, Burns told him to sit down and talk with him for a moment. Happily, Smithers took the chance and stared lovingly at the man behind his desk. “Smithers, something’s been bothering you today.” Burns glowered in a matter-of-fact tone, crossing his arms. “You best be fixing whatever the problem is.”  
Stumbling over his words in the process, Smithers managed out his thoughts. “I can’t, Sir. It’s just… I broke one of my favorite things last night when I was drunk.”  
Burns tapped his fingers together in concentration. “What did you break? Surely it can be replaced.”  
“Well, the thing is, it was one of my… dolls, and there were only 17 made, so I can’t just replace it.” Sadly, Smithers glanced away so he could pretend that he wasn’t embarrassed talking about his dolls with his boss.  
“One of those Manobo Stick dolls, right?” Burns asked, raising his eyebrows. Smithers just nodded in reply. “Well, you better improve your mood a bit while you’re working. You don’t work fast enough when you’re upset.”  
“Yes Sir.” Obviously, Smithers knew he couldn’t just magically feel better about his situation, because there was no way he could reverse the damage done, after all.  
“Oh, and Smithers?” Burns called out to the male was standing by the doorway now.  
“Yes Sir?” Smithers answered hopefully, always on guard for something sweet to fall out of the rich man’s mouth.  
“Try to smile a bit more today. I don’t like seeing you upset at all.”  
Grinning at the sound of the sweet words, Smithers nodded, gazing at the old man with love in his eyes. “Yes Sir.” He was surprised his heart hadn’t burst from how much it was swelling with glee right now. Still with a pitiful look on his face, Smithers returned to his own desk to work.  
A few hours later, Smithers drove the old man to his home and helped him inside. He was ready to leave when Burns called him in from his bedroom.  
“What is it, Sir?” Right away, as he stood in the doorway, Smithers took note of the notepad and pencil in Burns’ lap.  
“Come talk to me for a moment.”  
Cautiously, preparing himself mentally for a scolding of some sorts, Smithers inched his way in the chamber and knelt down next to Burns. “What do you want to talk about, Sir?”  
The older man picked up the pencil in his lap and tapped it against his leg. “What was the name of that Manobo Stick doll you loved so much again? The specific one you broke.”  
Smithers thought back to his beloved doll and how he fought for it on Black Friday. “It was the Safari Stacy doll, the first edition. They later came out with the second edition, which changed the original color scheme completely!” The man’s eyes filled with glee as if he were a father talking about how proud he was of his child. “She also came with a completely different pair of shoes; see instead of being hiking boots, they were cowgirl boots, and they had little hearts-“  
Burns cut off the other’s rambling with a chuckle that warmed the sycophant’s heart. “That’s enough, Smithers. Now, I think it’s time you retire for the night as well.”  
The servant rose to his feet and bowed a bit. “Yes Sir.” Quietly, he left the room, making sure to peek his head in the doorway to make sure his boss was alright, only to see the man frantically scribbling words down on the notepad. He felt tempted to step in again and offer to write whatever his boss was writing for him, but he stopped himself. The old man looked extremely determined, so he decided not to bother him. Simply, the servant smiled and left the room, and then the mansion. Soon he was dozing off in his own bed. 

 

About a week passed, and Smithers had not filled the gap his doll left behind. No amount of cheap, or even expensive, dolls could fill the gap of his most treasured doll. Still, he held his head up, though, if not for himself then for his boss. The servant was patiently sorting through a stack of paychecks and trying to figure out where he was to send each one when Burns suddenly appeared in the doorway of the servant’s office. “Smithers, I’m off. I have an important meeting out of the country.”  
Surprised, the assistant set the papers down and frantically approached his supervisor. “Shouldn’t I come with you, Sir?”  
The plutocrat shook his head and held a hand up to silent the sycophant’s pleas. “Nonsense. I’ll take care of this myself. However, I need you to watch over the plant. I’ll return in two days.”  
Though he was still a bit taken aback, the assistant nodded and accepted the order. “Yes Sir. May I ask what the meeting is about? The company’s finances seem to be fine, and I can’t-  
The old man raised a hand up and silenced the words. “You may not ask.” When the assistant offered a sad smile and nod, he added, “It’s simply a personal meeting. Nothing for you to worry your little head about.” The eyes of the sycophant fell and he nodded again, turning back to the papers.  
“Should I drive you to the airport?”  
Studying the wall, the plutocrat shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a great idea this time. I need you to watch the plant. She’s counting on you.”  
Though the words were not ‘I’m counting on you,’ they still felt meaningful. Smithers smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes Sir. Have a nice trip.”  
Those were the last words Smithers said to him before the old man exited the building, and soon, the country. When he did return, Smithers went to the airport to pick him up, and having not received any contact from the man, he had no clue when to be at the airport and stayed there for at least the entire work day. When the man deported his plane, his eyes fell on the assistant and widened, as if he were surprised. Immediately, he handed an ominous bag to one of his chauffeurs, whispering something to them before approaching Waylon.  
Smithers guided him back home and helped him settle in for the night, since it was already 9:00 pm, an hour after Burns usual resting time.  
Unusually, though, right before Smithers left the mansion, his watch dinged. Right away, he hurried up to Burns bedchamber, fearing the worst. When he opened the door, however, Burns was perfectly fine, sitting upright in his bed. “Smithers, I want you to stay here for the night.”  
Shocked, the assistant laughed and fiddled with his hands. “Why is that, Sir?”  
Burns sternly gazed at Smithers, as if he was at a loss of words. “Because we’re taking the day off. We’re going golfing.”  
The assistant lit up and glowed. “That sounds wonderful, Sir. Should I make your day-off breakfast for you tomorrow, then?” The older man’s face broke out into a smile and he nodded.  
“Yes, that would be nice.” His grin faltered as he yawned. “Now, you best be getting to your room and resting. I don’t want you to be tired tomorrow. We’re going to have a long day.”  
“Yes Sir. Also, is there any specific reason we’re taking the day off tomorrow?” He grinned respectfully, though he still wanted an answer. “Tomorrow’s nothing special, after all.”  
Burns tiredly chuckled as he reached his lamp and held his hand on the coil. “The meeting tired me out, is all. And you must’ve been tired running the plant by yourself.”  
Though it was true, Smithers was still flattered. “Who will run the plant tomorrow?”  
“I’ll close it for the day. I’d hate to lose a dime, but,” the old man shook his head, “I’ll gamble enough tomorrow so I don’t lose any profit. Now, go to bed, Smithers!”  
“Yes Sir.” The sycophant flicked the overall room switch off and headed out of the room, going to the guest chamber, though it was practically his room. It used to be his father’s room, apparently, but the deceased man’s belongings had been shoved into storage the day he died. Waylon crawled tiredly into bed, setting his alarm with lidded eyes. Finally, he dozed off to the recorded sound of Mr. Burns heartbeat that he had implemented into his pillowcase. 

 

The next day went by pleasantly. The two did as Mr. Burns mentioned and went golfing, and they ate at the Gilded Truffle afterwards. The scene at the dinner table was overwhelmingly romantic, but Smithers made sure to keep his thoughts to himself. His eyes, though, couldn’t help but embrace the old man’s face. After dinner, they headed back to the Burns manor, and Burns once again invited Smithers to stay for the night. Happily, the assistant obliged and helped Burns into bed. As Burns set upright on the side of the bed, he invited the younger man to sit beside him.  
“Smithers, I know it’s been a few weeks, but I’ve bought you a birthday present.” The plutocrat mumbled as he stood up, traveling across the room and opening his wardrobe, pulling a small box to the assistant. The box obviously was wrapped by the one and only Charles Montgomery Burns himself, judging by the badly hidden tape and messy, uneven wrapping-paper.  
“Sir, you didn’t have to do that.” He grinned over at the man. “Plus, you’ve already bought me a suit.”  
Shaking his head, the older man rest his hand on Smithers’ back. “That was something your father wanted you to have when I thought the time was right. This gift is from me.”  
Bashfully, the servant nodded and began to carefully pull the paper away from the box. When he finally discarded the paper, his eyes began to water and his voice became sore. “Sir, you didn’t…”  
“I did.”  
“Oh, Sir!”  
The plutocrat let out a small gasp as he was suddenly tackled into a hug. Normally, he would not allow such close contact. Surprisingly, he found himself enclosing his arms around the other comfortably, instead. The doll fell to the floor slowly, but the distracted pair stay glued against each other.  
“Alright, that’s enough, Waylon.” Though he didn’t want to separate, the elderly man had other plans for the night. “I have one more present for you.”  
Right away, the assistant perked up, still a bit bashful. “Sir, you’re spoiling me.”  
“Nonsense.” The man shrugged the implication off, though he was smiling contently. “Follow me.”  
Excitedly, the employee did as he was told. Soon, he was standing in the doorway of his guest chamber, his eyes boggling at the sight. The servant’s belongings from his apartment were arranged neatly around the room, and he was sure there were some new Malibu Stacey dolls by the ones he already had, which were put in neat display cases by the bookcase. Slowly, Smithers started to step forward, running his hand alongside one of the cases, putting his new doll in an empty spot. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”  
“Say yes.”  
Chuckling, Smithers turned around slowly, an embarrassed grin on his face. “Say yes to what, Sir?” That’s when he felt like fainting. In the doorway, his boss was struggling to open a small velvet box, and when he managed to open the box, out stumbled a small silver ring with a green gem perched on the top of it. Suddenly, Smithers started to cry again. “Sir….”  
Awkwardly, the older man leaned down and picked up the ring, making sure the gems were still delicately on the top, with no dust touching it. With an almost innocent grin, he approached the silently-sobbing sycophant, taking his hand. “What is your answer?”  
“Oh, Sir!” Once again, Smithers launched forward and latched onto the other, squeezing him tightly. “Yes, of course!”  
“Well, that’s good. It cost me a polished penny to have those men move all of your belongings here. It would’ve been a pain to move everything back.” He said the words more matter-of-factly than upsettingly. “And the ring was quite expensive to make.” Smithers just sobbed hysterically into Burns’ shoulder, while the older man awkwardly rubbed circles on his back.  
After a few moments of sobbing, Smithers broke apart and watched as Burns slid the ring onto his finger. After staring at it lovingly for a moment, Smithers launched forward yet again and kissed Burns passionately. Once he came to terms with what was happening, which was rather quickly, Burns returned the kiss with almost-equal enthusiasm.  
Once they broke apart, Smithers led Burns back to his bedroom, tucking him in. Sheepishly, Burns looked to the empty portion of his bed. “You can sleep in here with me, if you want to. I decorated your room so you could have a place for your collection, not so you had to sleep separately from me.” The servant’s face broke out into a smile as he looked down at the love of his life.  
“Yes Sir.” With zeal, he started to undress, noticing that the billionaire’s eyes were wide as he watched him. “Um, Sir, what would be appropriate for me to wear to bed with you?”  
After shifting in bed a little, the rich man grinned a bit. “Whatever you want. I did have a matching pair of pajamas made for you, though.”  
Right away, the half-naked man perked up. “Where are they?”  
“They’re in your wardrobe in your room. They should be easy to find.”  
With an ambient nod, the servant rushed out of the room and returned in the pajamas, that were indeed matching, hat and all, though his pair had the words ‘the other Mr. Burns’ imprinted on the front.  
“Do they fit?” Burns asked nervously, a bit embarrassed that he had the pajamas made at all. “They look a bit silly, honestly. You don’t have to wear them if you’re not comfortable with them.”  
“Nonsense.” Smithers said, innocently mocking the other as he turned the light switch off. “I love them.” Gently, he crawled into the opposite side of the bed as Burns, scooting close enough to see him through the darkness.  
“Are you sure you want to marry me?” Burns asked softly, not in a nervous tone, but in a more surprised tone. “I honestly thought you would have walked out.”  
“Of course I do.” Smithers said quietly, reaching forward and casting an arm over his lover. “I love you, Monty.” The words were fragile, but they held an intense volume to the older man.  
“I love you too, Waylon.” The old man’s voice trembled a bit, since it had been a long time he had said such genuinely pure words, but he was happy to say them, nonetheless. The sturdier assistant leaned forward and kissed the other on the lips gently, sighing contently when he pulled back. In a matter of minutes, Smithers drifted away into his dreams.  
Burns watched the other sleep for a moment, still a bit overwhelmed that he went through with proposing, though he was more than happy with the decision. His hand shaking, he reached forward and pulled the servant’s glasses off, setting them on the nightstand.  
Confidently, he nestled his arm around the other, burying his face against the other’s shoulder. 

“Happy birthday, Waylon.”


End file.
